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By Mozart and da Ponte. Directed by Atom Egoyan. Until Feb. 21 at the Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts, 145 Queen St. W. 416-363-8231

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”

Muhammad Ali’s mantra was frequently in my mind on Saturday evening as I sat through the opening of Atom Egoyan’s new production of Così fan tutte for the Canadian Opera Company.

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Egoyan and his designer, Debra Hanson, have butterflies in abundance decorating this version of the Mozart-da Ponte exercise for mixed doubles and they float delectably above the action much of the time, fitting quite nicely with the light-hearted, spicily erotic vision of the play that Egoyan seems to be unfolding.

But the director also wants his show to sting like a bee, as witnessed by the famous Frida Kahlo self-portrait, The Two Fridas, that greets us when we enter the theatre and will come to haunt us (and not in a good way) by the time we reach the second act.

In short, this is a production of Così fan tutte that doesn’t really know where it’s going and — despite some truly delightful company from the cast — its indecision definitely diminishes the evening’s ultimate success.

So much about the production is right, that its flaws loom even larger because of the excellence around them.

Egoyan’s idea of stressing the opera’s subtitle, The School for Lovers, is wryly clever, as is the concept of having the two young girls in on the game of deception that their lovers are playing to test how faithful women are (or aren’t) when their lovers are away.

His decision is helped by the sublimely suave presence of Sir Thomas Allen as Don Alfonso, the story’s guiding force. It’s a role that can grow swiftly tedious in the wrong hands, but with Allen, you not only have a man of masterful musicianship who caresses his vocal lines like a lover, but a witty and sophisticated compère who knows just where the wind is blowing at all times.

We totally buy the idea of him as a sort of über-professor in the striking, but decidedly odd educational institution designer Hanson has provided. The central figure of the set is a towering sculpture of objects representing combined world knowledge that is lovely to look at, but seldom used.

The students are a fetching lot, all wearing private school uniforms à la Tom Ford — nicely tailored, neatly trimmed and showing off everyone’s best physical attributes.

Yes, it does mean that Fiordiligi, our vixenish heroine and her tempting sister, Dorabella, come across as a pair of bel canto Mean Girls, but Layla Claire and Wallis Giunta are so delicious that you forgive their shallowness, as they work that blonde-brunette dynamic which made Betty and Veronica such a striking pair in the Archie comics.

Best of all, Claire and Giunta are as stellar vocally as they are visually, with Claire fielding some glorious tones in her upper register that drew bravos from the opening night crowd and Giunta already possessing some beautifully burnished notes that are positively thrilling.

The men get a bit less chance to define themselves, but Robert Gleadow’s Guglielmo has a nice studly swagger and the ability to rant with clarity in his tirades against women. Paul Appleby’s Ferrando is a bit weaker, fielding a pleasant, but undistinguished tenor and a look that can too often remind one of George Constanza on the make.

Someone who has it all is the other mature cast member, Tracy Dahl, whose cunning servant Despina possesses the crisp vocal clarity, great comedy timing, and wholehearted sense of physical horseplay that make this character fly. Every moment she’s on stage is a theatrical joy, but one also faithful to the score she’s singing.

Then where do we go wrong? Act I fairly floats by, but Act II becomes very heavy sledding indeed. Yes, there is pain in Così fan tutte, as lovers betray each other, but in this world Egoyan and Hanson have set up for us, it’s the pain of adolescent calf-love, not the agony of Frida Kahlo, when her storm-tossed, decade-long marriage to Diego Rivera dissolved, inspiring the picture Egoyan now puts front and centre for so much time.

We not only are forced to look at this portrait of a heart being torn apart, we go in for many close-ups of it and Claire is compelled to wield a pair of scissors like the one in the painting, just in case we miss the point.

From there on, things get grimmer and grimmer, with the opera’s eventual happy ending seeming bitterly false, which doesn’t really synch with the music we’re hearing.

No wonder that conductor Johannes Debus, so crisp yet warm with his Act I tempi, seems to allow the orchestra to grow ever more lethargic as we draw to a close.

There’s a lot to value in this Così fan tutte but, ultimately, one wishes that Egoyan had chosen whether he wanted to float or to sting.

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